


Demon Souls in a Jar

by hanniebeon



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: M/M, VIXX cameos, catboy!Mingyu, demon!Dino, demon!Seungcheol, some (a lot of) swearing, wizard!Jeonghan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-05-31 19:55:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6485434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanniebeon/pseuds/hanniebeon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summoning a demon is the first mistake Jeonghan makes. The second is allowing Mingyu to get too close to another one.<br/>His final mistake is being unable to let go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeonghan was definitely not the one who wrote "cute" with purple crayon on the demon summoning form.

For a wizard, Jeonghan lives a relatively comfortable life.

Sure, it’s nothing in comparison to an elf’s or a shapeshifter’s, but his little florist with its cheery atmosphere coupled with his quick smile makes him enough to get by. He also has an assortment of guns and a garden of poisonous plants in the back room, but no one needs to know about that.

Maybe the reason almost no one knows is Chan. After all, kids can melt the hearts of millions, and Chan with his cheeky smiles and glimmering eyes can convince even the busiest of adults to sit down to listen to him gush hours and hours about Michael Jackson. Of course, Jeonghan hasn’t had time to test his hypothesis that shoving Chan in front of any adult’s face could get them to stop interrogating Jeonghan immediately, but he’s willing to bet it would work.

It’s not all a façade though. Even in the confinements of their apartment Jeonghan affectionately asks Chan whose baby he is with full guarantee of a trained response (“Jeonghan! Jeonghan hyung!”) as he empties the souls into labeled jars or wipes the blood from his gun, but that’s only on a bad day.

A comfortable life at this stage, but Jeonghan can’t help but wonder about the future. Chan is getting older and Jeonghan’s leather jacket keeps rubbing against the ink threaded across his skin, harsher every year – clearly something needs to be done.

Jihoon suggests a babysitter. He also attempts to bash Mingyu over the head with his guitar when the taller male whispers “rich boy” under his breath, hissing curse words under his breath. It was fortunate Jihoon’s guitar didn’t have strings, or they’d all have snapped at the pure force the guitar swung through the air with. 

Jeonghan tries to save Mingyu, but his efforts are half-hearted. A few casual tugs on the taller male’s wrist is enough for him, plus it’s quite cute, the terrified expressions Mingyu makes, the way his fluffy ears stand all perky on top of his head. So Jeonghan just sits at the side and watches (maybe snaps a few pictures) of Jihoon with his tiny stature, cornering the cat hybrid in the corner of studio. For blackmail, he assures himself.

Which is why Jeonghan’s slouched over the dining table, eyebrows furrowed as he tries to come up with appropriate adjectives to suit the demon he wants.

“Respectable?“ He considers it for a while before deciding that if the demon’s essentially going to be a babysitter for Chan, him being respectable is the least of Jeonghan’s worries.

The wizard spends a good hour coming up with various suggestions and playing the Devil’s Advocate, shooting down some of them. Jeonghan does scrawl one word down – ‘rich’ in his usual loopy, indecipherable handwriting, useful for evading Chan’s questions of what he’s writing in his bouquet-planning notebook (combinations of flowers coupled with swear words directed at some particularly annoying customers) – but his dreams of having a demon for a sugar daddy quickly come to an end when he flips the leaflet and sees ‘rich’ in the list of prohibited words.

“Who the fuck comes up with this shit?” He scowls, about ready to rip the leaflet and his hair to shreds. That’s a lot coming from him; next to Chan, maintaining his long luscious hair is Jeonghan’s top priority.

“Fuck this.” Jeonghan pulls out his phone, searching up ‘good demon adjectives’ and he’s done in a matter of minutes.

“Dad-like, dependable, responsible…” He reads them out slowly, turning them over in his mind. Jeonghan ticks off his mental checklist of everything that shouldn’t be wrong with those words, massaging his forehead when he’s done – no wonder people say ordering demons gives them a headache.

Jeonghan’s about to go flop onto the bed with a sketchbook and a couple colour pencils in his hand so he can sketch up some designs for the florist – if he’s going to have a façade he’s going to maintain it – but alas the hands of the clock are both striking upwards at 12. Which means Chan’s ended his lessons about an hour ago and has had to stay in the classroom all by himself the entire time. Fuck.

“Goddamnit.” Jeonghan heaves a sigh. He rubs at his ink-covered arms in annoyance, pulling a plain black cardigan out of his closet. Thankfully, he does make it to Chan’s kindergarten ten minutes later, parking his motorcycle a block away because according to Mingyu, it’s bad for the kids.

“Not worse than drugs.” Jeonghan had muttered under his breath, and Mingyu had slapped him playfully on the shoulder and told him to park a block away or he was never cooking for Jeonghan anymore.

Speaking of Mingyu, Jeonghan is surprised when he enters Chan’s classroom to find an unfamiliar head of now-blue hair in the classroom, a tall figure squeezed into a tiny chair made for five year-olds. He’s listening patiently to what Chan is saying, leaning forward and colouring vigorously on a piece of paper in front of him.

It’s really fucking cute.

“Hey kids. If you’re not too busy, I have the afternoon shift at my florist and I’d rather not have a customer sue because Jun is being too greasy.” Mingyu gives a throaty laugh at his lame joke and Jeonghan flushes lightly in that way he always seems to do whenever Mingyu even shows a reaction at anything he does.

“Jeonghan! Jeonghan! Look! I drew you! And me!” Chan smiles widely, showing gums as he proudly shows off a scribbled picture – Jeonghan can recognize himself as the figure on the left only by the broken lines of yellow crayon straggling down. He has to give the kid props for attempting to draw his leather jacket too.

“That’s really cool, Chan. Do you want to drop by the super market and get some cookies and ramyun for dinner?”

“Yes! Yes!” Chan replies the same time Mingyu offers, “I could come over and cook up some spaghetti for you guys instead.”

The five-year-old’s excitement suddenly halts as he considers the tallest male’s offer. Jeonghan can almost hear the wheels turning in his mind as he considers his options – he internally wills the kid to make a decision that will make the both of them happy. Then he looks up to Jeonghan with wide eyes and a forming pout on his lips.

“Can Mingyu-hyung come over today? Pretty please?” Jeonghan lets out a subtle smile as he replies with an affirmative. 

“Ah, but the motorcycle…” He realizes his source of transportation, only really made to carry maximum of two, is still parked a block away.

“That’s okay, I’ll just drive Chan over to your place tomorrow.” Today’s a Thursday, Jeonghan remembers, and that would make tomorrow a Friday. He smiles at Mingyu.

“Thanks. Would you like to stay for a drink afterwards?” Mingyu returns his smile, an affirmative, and Jeonghan internally congratulates himself. This moment of congratulation only lasts until they reach the exit, and he casually grasps the sling of the storage tube digging into his right shoulder. There’s always something uneasy about stepping outside, the knowledge that someone wouldn’t have to do much to find out that his storage tube did not contain works of art and other harmless things of the sort.

As always, despite his initial concerns, nothing happens on the way to the supermarket – Chan almost slips into a puddle from yesterday’s rain, but that’s about it – but Jeonghan’s hand is immediately back onto the strap the second they step out of the supermarket with several bags of groceries. Mingyu had assured them he’d make enough so he and Chan could live off leftover spaghetti for the next week or so. Jeonghan had been grateful, partially because he was terrible in the kitchen and could only make ramen, and also because Mingyu’s cooking was to die for.

Sure enough, the kimchi spaghetti with spicy marinated pork Mingyu whips up is far tastier than the instant ramen Jeonghan had made whilst waiting – the long-haired male berates the fact that although he’s good with his hands in terms of flower arranging, he’s never been even a decent cook.

Mingyu insists they clean the dishes and Chan goes to bed before they bring out the drinks, and so Jeonghan tucks the five-year-old to bed despite harried protests. When he emerges from the dark bedroom, Mingyu is sitting with a unsurprisingly cat-like grin on the couch, two wine glasses and a bottle of something French-sounding placed on the coffee table.

Mingyu twists the cork out of the bottle mouth, peering into the swirling contents.

“You stress-drink a lot. There’s a lot less than last time.” Jeonghan makes a face to that, easing the glass bottle from Mingyu and swiftly pouring two glasses of wine, one filled near to the brim. He lifts that one to his lips despite a pointed look from the other male, taking a large gulp.

Jeonghan gives an indolent sigh as the chilly liquid flows down his throat and lies back against the couch cushions. He never quite knows what to say at these moments, when the silence between them is comfortable but so out of place.

“Nice hair.” He finally comments, twirling the stem of the glass around his fingers, idly sniffing at the dark wine and staring at the way the taller male’s ears perk up at the mention.

“Yeah. Haha.” Mingyu ruffles a hand through the mentioned hair nervously, and his ears twitch again, “they refused to, you know, dye everything but at least it worked.”

“Ha.” Jeonghan says, and they both know he’s not really laughing. It’s funny, how they both don’t fit but Mingyu shows it because he doesn’t want to hide, even when Jihoon offers him a choice from his collection of caps (“dad caps are ew”, Mingyu complains but there’s always a slight wobble to his voice as he declines). While Jeonghan drowns, drowns in his cardigans and leather jackets and the scent of those beautiful, beautiful flowers, as beautiful as the first time she had pressed a kiss to his forehead and told him he was the best person she had never met and please, please never forget her.

That was when they had started appearing.

“Yah,” Jeonghan looks up when Mingyu breaks the heavy silence that had fallen like a shadow upon them, “have you asked Chan about it yet?”

“Asked him about what?” 

Mingyu makes an exasperated noise at the back of his throat, ears flicking in impatience.

“The demon summoning form, of course? Is he okay with some person entering his life just like that?” Jeonghan sighs, placing the wine glass back on the table.

“You have to ask him, you know. It’s his life that’s going to be affected too.” Mingyu points out. 

“I will, I will, just…” Jeonghan heaves another breath, leaning forward to massage the sides of his forehead with heavy fingertips.

Silence reigns once again.

“I’ll wash the glasses. It’s getting late anyway.” Jeonghan barely hears a sound as Mingyu walks away, and it’s only until he hears the definite sound of a door shutting does he get up.

“You’re not sleeping.” Jeonghan deadpans – he’d been trying to enter Chan’s room in silence for fear that he was fast asleep and had instead been greeted by Chan, fully awake and scrawling something on a piece of printer paper. If his sister could see him now, he’d be bashed over the head for being bad parenting.

To make up for it, he plants his bum on the probably very dirty floor of Chan’s room (he’s been procrastinating Cleaning Day), scooting over so he can peer over the boy’s shoulder as his hand moves vigorously.

“Chan-ah…” Jeonghan says tentatively.

“Yes?” The five-year-old replies, still scribbling at the flimsy material with a blunt purple crayon.

“Would you mind if someone else started living with us? Hyung’s worried about picking you up on time and having someone else do it might be better.” 

It’s very clear he was the type of kid who picked up cute puppies in the park only to accidentally dropping them and was generally horrible with any form of human communication (Jeonghan hasn’t remembered this fact in recent months of only mild conversation involving the florist and way too much drunk conversations with Mingyu and Jihoon). Jeonghan thinks he will look back on this conversation with Chan and continually berate himself on how awkward he sounds.

“Someone else?” Chan looks up, attention piqued.

“Yeah, someone else. So?” Jeonghan asks, fingers tapping at his thigh.

“Sure! Will he be nice?” Chan quips up and Jeonghan thinks kids give relief too quickly – one word from Chan and he feels like a large weight has been lifted off his chest.

“I dunno, kiddo.” Jeonghan ruffles Chan’s hair playfully and rubs his thumb over the normally unnoticeable bumps, sounding and feeling more ebullient than he had been in a long time, “Hopefully. Hyung doesn’t know yet.”

“Okay…” Chan says with a pout.

“Okay, now off to bed.” The five-year-old pushes the edges of his lips even lower at the sound of his worst enemy the bed, but Jeonghan insists, ushering him back into the rumpled blankets.

“Goodnight, hyung.” He hears a small whisper, which he reciprocates before padding off to his own bedroom armed with his laptop.

Jeonghan spends a full night researching demons and how they were summoned, then wipes his search history as a precaution. Despite the persistent searching (“demon summoning”, “summon demon” and various phrases of the same meaning), looking on any search engine only turns up an infinitesimal amount of shady resources.

A tour to the library and borrowing more books than he’d ever had in his life does help Jeonghan out a lot – the window to the stuffy storage room he’d found when he’d first started his “backroom business” is always reliable for any ancient books containing information the government didn’t want them to find.

The package for the demon summoning arrives a few days later, battered and muddy, and the instructions on it are far clearer that whatever he’d found in the old books, but Jeonghan keeps them anyway, for future use.

Against his own will, his living room becomes the area of summoning – Jeonghan’s apartment is relatively small and he’s too lazy to find some abandoned plot of land in the countryside.

The chalk is so crumbly it feels like he might crush it to bits if he even curls his fingers around it, but Jeonghan manages to draw the pentagon as instructed in the leaflet, stacking the jars that came with the demon-summoning package (painted a solid black and impossible to pry open) in the center.

The ancient words still curl uncomfortably on his tongue; words of power and magic are hard to master, even if they are as old as Jeonghan’s grandmother and twice as useless in this day and age. He’d practiced a couple times just because Mingyu had nagged at him until he agreed – something about summoning the wrong demon and accidentally killing Chan (Jeonghan was really only listening to the second part).

Jeonghan manages to get through it well enough, and sure enough the second the last syllable lifts off his tongue, the chalk seems to foam purple, tendrils of violet fog seeping into the air. It completely covers the hemisphere of area around the pentagon. Jeonghan unconsciously holds his breath any movement or sign that someone else has joined his company. Dad-like and dependable, Jeonghan reminds himself, so hopefully this demon is what he asked for.

The purple mist clears, and the first thing Jeonghan sees is wide eyes and pouty cheeks, with a fist curled up next to them for good measure.

He’s going to sue that damn demon-selling company.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hell probably doesn't have any long-haired male demons, because the first thing the demon does when he sees Jeonghan's long hair is to call him "noona".

“Fuck.” Jeonghan moves back, clutching the edges of his sleeves in his hands. He only stops when his hip hits the edge of the table; blinking his eyes in disbelief.

In reply, the demon in the circle, sitting all cross-legged and innocent in the middle of that pentagon, only brings his other hand up to form two fists at the edges of his face.

“Noona, I need a little help getting up. Help me please?” the last word is lisped to sound like “pwease”, and Jeonghan barfs a little in his mouth. First of all, the excessive amount of cute is ridiculous, and secondly…

“How dare you call me noona, you fucking son of a – “ Jeonghan grabs the nearest item – a chair – in a mission to throw anything, anything that will hurt and possibly leave scars at the demon who dares to be cute, call him a girl and try to get away with it.

Unfortunately, demons have inhumane strength and reflexes, which is why a pale hand reaches out to catch the middle of the chair leg before Jeonghan can inflict any damage. There’s the sound of wood snapping (there goes a chair) as the dark-haired demon’s eyes widen in realization.

“Oh. You’re not a girl.”

Jeonghan scoffs, puffing his chest.

“Damn right I’m not a - “

“I’m sorry,” the demon intercepts his speech yet again, standing and bowing multiple times in quick succession, “I saw the long hair and I guess I just assumed… we don’t have much long-haired male demons in hell.”

“I can see that.” Jeonghan mutters dryly, glancing down at the back of the demon’s head as he bows once more before straightening his back. He stares at Jeonghan eye to eye and the long-haired male thinks the least the demon-summoning company could’ve done was to give him someone shorter so he could at least feel slightly superior. Because Jeonghan is dressed in a plain white tee and a grey cardigan coupled with his favourite boxers, the ones with the banana print while the demon is decked in a fucking suit.

Feeling slightly desperate and more than a little like the world is out to get him on this fine day, Jeonghan buries his face in his palms as he tries to gather his thoughts and find the best course of action.

“Ugh. Okay, look. The time now is…” Jeonghan pauses for a quick squint at the clock on the kitchen counter, “ten-forty and we have to go pick up Chan from the kindergarten by eleven. So…I’ll just see if I have any clothes to spare for you.”

A quick rummage through his closet and a few tries later the conclusion is quickly apparent – Seungcheol with his thick thighs will not fit into any of Jeonghan’s pants, and any shirts look a little too tight around the chest. Just casual observations. So Seungcheol stays in his suit for the time being while Jeonghan attempts to make himself more presentable by throwing on a leather jacket and a pair of skinny jeans.

“We’re taking the bus today, since my motorcycle can’t transport three.” Jeonghan says as he slips on his boots, scrabbling on the shoe cupboard to grab a handful of coins.

“This should be enough.” He dumps a few select coins into Seungcheol’s hand, picking out a few for his own bus fare and storing the rest in his jacket pocket. It’s astonishing to watch the glamour appear on Seungcheol, the dark, curved, almost purplish horns there one moment and gone the next. A few bumpy line streaking through Seungcheol’s hands, dark veins, vanish and leave smooth pale skin in their wake. 

Outside it’s not yet lunch hour, but the streets are dotted with a few business people out for an early lunch.

The line for the bus is short, and they manage to grab seats – Jeonghan sits himself at a window seat, and he and Seungcheol ezchange no words (the truth is Jeonghan simply ignores all the demon’s attempts to make conversation as he puts in his earphones) until they get off the bus and near the entrance of the kindergarten.

Jeonghan comes to an abrupt stop.

“Wait.” He says to Seungcheol, holding up a hand, “I’ll go get Chan myself.”

The other male has a confused look on his face as he inquires, “Aren’t I going to be the one picking him up in the future? I should check out where his classroom is so I know where to fetch him from in the future.”

Jeonghan chooses not to fight him with his (impeccable) logic, giving him a pointed glare coupled with a stern “Wait here.”

Thankfully Seungcheol obeys without a second word, and Jeonghan disappears into familiar hallways to get Chan. Regretfully, he also has to turn down an offer from Mingyu to come over and make dinner for them again – he’d rather keep Seungcheol a secret until he’s gotten the entire situation of “I-just-got-a-fucking-demon” under control. Chan gives him a strange, all-knowing stare as he rejects a dinner made by Mingyu; the kid’s far too smart for his age.

“Chan, remember when I told you someone might start living with us?” 

“Yeah!” Chan replies enthusiastically, small hand tightening in Jeonghan’s in excitement. “Is he here?”

“He is. He’s waiting just outside…there.” Sure enough, when they reach the doors of the school, Seungcheol is still standing obediently beside the gate. His eyes light up the second he spots Chan, and he crouches down to be on eye-level with the child when he approaches.

“Hi, you must be Chan!”

Never the shy one, Chan immediately stretches a hand forward, one of the “adult things” he had learned by watching television (of course, he didn’t know there were much worse “adult things” to be discovered out there – Jeonghan had banned him from watching television without his supervision). “Yes, I am Chan! I am five-years-old and turning six this year! Nice to meet you, mister…”

The dark-haired demon lets out a wide, toothy grin, “You can call me Seungcheol hyung.”

“Seungcheol… hyung?” Chan looks up, eyes wide, and his tentative smile immediately becomes a full-blown one. “Seungcheollie hyung!”

“Yeah! Aren’t you just the cutest lil’ guy ever!” Seungcheol picks Chan up effortlessly, twirling him around, and by the time he lets Chan down the five-year-old looks completely charmed.

He looks up and spots Seungcheol’s horns, and with a stubby finger points up to them. Chan’s lips part to form the beginnings of a question, but Jeonghan quickly diverts his attention by asking him what he wants for lunch and to ask Seungcheol any other questions he has at home.

The bus ride back is louder (Chan gesticulating excitedly at genuinely interested Seungcheol) and significantly more crowded – Jeonghan has to send fierce glars towards a young teen taking selfies at the back to get a seat for Chan.

At home, they order takeaway for lunch, because apparently Seungcheol also only has rudimentary kitchen skills (read: they can both make ramyun without destroying the pot). The glamour Seungcheol has put on disappears the second the door is closed – it’s going to take Jeonghan some getting used to.

The television is on, blaring as some cartoon plays, and as a talking piece of cake appears on the screen, Jeonnghan mumbles through a mouthful of fried chicken, “By the way, I have to go to work at around three, four-ish? So I’ll bring Chan to a playdate with his friends, but you’re gonna have to watch over him there for a few hours or so? I’ll be there around seven.”

Chan diverts his focus on the television for one second, perking up at the sound of his name and turning to the demon with an expectant look.  
“Sure.” Seungcheol answers attentively, “just tell me how to get back and give me some coins.” A hand is consciously running through his hair, the area between the two horns.

Jeonghan can’t help but stare out of the corner of his eye at the horns that protrude from the demon’s ebony hair, magnificient in all their curved glory, polished and smooth, reaching up for the sky. Dark velvet against artistically tousled coal-black strands, coupled with a slightly rumpled suit in the same shade, Seungcheol looks the picture of messily pristine elegance.

“Yeah.” Jeonghan snaps himself out of it. “Coins. We should get going soon.” He escorts Seungcheol and Chan to the park (the one with a playground, obviously), pointing out the bus and their stop clearly to the demon, who is thoughtfully ruffling Chan’s hair.

Although he can feel his face twisting into a discomfited expression, Jeonghan says nothing. Honestly, it’s only a matter of time until Seungcheol finds out, but before then, Jeonghan’s going to pretend it’s impossible for him to find out.

“Meet by the fountain” was the only detail Jeonghan had caught from a very brief meeting with the moms of Chan’s friends – not that he couldn’t have completely charmed their pants (or skirts) off, but there were better things to do than make conversation with middle-aged aunties whose main discussion topic was what dinner to make that night.

They’re relatively early, but there’s already a mother-son pair waiting by the fountain. They spot them first, and Jeonghan isn’t quite sure what to make of the expression that flashes across the mother’s features for that one split second, but he soon finds out as the mother ushers her child across to them. There’s a forebodingly saccharine grin on her face.

“Long time no see, Jeonghan. With a boyfriend, I see.”

The disdain in her voice is apparent. Jeonghan raises a brow at that – even if Seungcheol isn’t his boyfriend, what right does she have to make any comments on his life in that tone and manner?

The weather is beautiful but this bitch just ruined Jeonghan’s mood. But Chan’s been raving excitedly about this playdate since last week, so he feels some obligation to note make this first experience terrible for the kid.

“No, just a friend.” He forces himself to answer her lightly, waving her suggestion off with a careless flick of his hand.

“Nice to meet you ma’am, my name is Seungcheol.” Overly polite, and probably giving a better first impression than Jeonghan did.

Before the mom can say anything else in reply, Jeonghan quickly intercepts.

“Anyways, I’ve got to go to work, so Seungcheol here will take care of Chan and bring him home. It was nice seeing you.” A tiny bow, then he leaves with a final, warning glance at Seungcheol, and a gesture that quite clearly says “don’t fuck up”.

The scent of flowers, gardenias, Asian lilies and brightly-coloured roses permeates the air and Jeonghan breathes a sigh of comfort and relief when he finally enters the florist. The florist was locked and is empty because Jihoon can be a little shit sometimes and leave straight after his shift. Jeonghan also can’t blame him because there’s no one looking to buy flowers at this time of day.

A pull and twist at the knob ensures him that the backroom is also nicely locked; Jihoon may have no sense of responsibility towards other people, but at least he has a sense of overwhelming responsibility to his own work. 

The hours drift by with no interruption - it’s quite rare for anyone to purchase flowers beyond anytime in the early afternoon when all the housewives drop by on their way to buy groceries, but occasionally there’ll be a couple of bouquets for a date that evening or a late Mother’s day gift. 

This day, however, the florist is basked in a pleasant gloom, only the sounds of pen scratching against paper to be heard as Jeonghan sketches out a couple of ideas in his sketchbook. At the same time, he’s calculating a list of his supplies, which will be sent to Jihoon later with a reminder not to order from any of their suppliers drunk at three in the morning (although Jihoon had promised that was a one-time thing).

Such an environment like the florist always helped Jeonghan work efficiently and quickly, without the constant need to watch over his shoulder, as his reflexes were plenty fast enough if a customer ever came in. Even though Jeonghan was human himself, he had to admit they made pretty noisy, clumsy entrances anywhere they went.

“Need twenty grams for every soul, around five souls a week…” he mumbles under his breath, penning down some numbers. Then there is a soft tap at his shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> notice: this fic will be updated almost every fortnight! sometimes early because i can’t stick to schedules. and every fortnight mostly because i’m a slowpoke and two thousand words takes me two weeks to churn out.  
> also, writing about the horns lowkey felt like i was describing a penis. this fact also sounds a lot worse now that i’ve typed it.
> 
> on a side note, thanks for all the lovely comments looking forward to the rest of the story! so am i, because i’d written half this chapter then realized i had none of the characters’ backstories down. which, if you’ve written something chaptered before, you will know it’s not a good idea to start writing a story with only inspiration on your plate.  
> anyhow, thanks so much for all the comments and kudos and i hope the rest of the story won’t disappoint!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jeonghan faces some of his problems and hides from everything else.

“Mingyu told me you said no to him making you dinner.” Is the first sentence that comes out of Jihoon’s mouth. He seems not to recognize the shocked state Jeonghan is in, or maybe he just doesn’t see the wide-eyed surprise plainly written all over the long-haired male’s face.

“God-fucking-damnit, Jihoon. You scared me.” Jeonghan scowls, rubbing at his eyes with his free hand. “And what’s that to you?”

“Nothing.” Jihoon shrugs, and fairy dust falls upon his shoulders. “Just surprised.” Unsurprisingly, he looks like he’s just crawled out of bed – Jeonghan knows he’s probably been up at dawn, dark circles forming as in sits alone in front of a bright screen, fingers moving rapidly as he composes. The Achilles notches of his battered Converse haven’t even been tugged up, socks jammed haphazardly onto his feet. There’s a lingering stench of cigarettes on his jacket, and the human sighs in distaste.

“Anyways. I’m sure you didn’t come here to talk about me turning down Mingyu’s offer for dinner. Which, by the way, is perfectly normal.” Jeonghan sighs again. “So, what brings you here?”

“Bad news.” Jihoon replies crassly, sliding down against the opposite wall. A cloud of glitter follows his movements.

“You only ever have bad news.” Comments Jeonghan and the other male grunts a reluctant agreement, resting his elbows against his spread thighs. “What is it then?”

“Our gut suppliers have refused to keep supplying us.” 

Jeonghan shrugs. “Guts”, as Jihoon likes to call it, are really just another name for devil’s guts or bindweed. A simple weed, found anywhere.

“I can pick that from the junkyard down the road, no worries.”

“And we can’t get any more yew supplies.”

Fuck.

“You sure we can’t get any more right now?”

Jihoon shakes his head. “Our suppliers upped and left, and anyone else seems to be extremely unwilling to help us. There’s definitely something going on.”

“Well, about the yew, that’s still fine. I have some supplies at home, but they won’t last very long.”

“I’m so fucking tired of dealing with all their bullshit.”

“But you deal with them anyway.” This type of regular occurrence was what convinced had Jeonghan that Jihoon had to be the most tsundere guy Jeonghan had ever met. He ailed from a rich family, their business well-known to almost everyone and anyone. On the surface, it looked like he was living the classic life of a rich douche – gone to a prestigious school, did terrible, then proceeded to drop out to pursue a music career (scandalous in Jihoon’s family’s circles), leaving the family business headed to ruins without a heir.

However behind the scenes, Jihoon was running their little humanitarian project mostly by himself. Jeonghan liked to think he helped, even with just a little, but the brunt of the work usually fell on the shorter male’s shoulders. Sure, most of it was run on the money Jihoon had pilfered from his family’s bank account (“trust me, they won’t notice a thing.”), but everything else came out of his own pockets.

In short Jihoon acts like biggest bastard Jeonghan has ever met in his life, but his actions tell him otherwise. He trusts Jihoon, maybe even with his life.

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” Jeonghan says airily, waving his pen in dismissal.

“I’m sure I will.” Jihoon replies dryly. “Life has been so fucking annoying lately.”

Jeonghan grunts in reply, turning back to his page and sketching out a few flowers with deft swipes of his hand. “At least we haven’t had to chase down any Soulstealers lately.”

“I suspect Mingyu’s ears aren’t as good as they used to be.” Jeonghan snorts – that’s a joke and Jihoon knows that. On one hand he’s relieved he doesn’t have to be out until midnight chasing Soulstealers getting their grubby hands all over souls they shouldn’t touch (but he’s got Seungcheol now, hasn’t he?) but on the other hand any lack of activity in those parts never foreshadows anything good.

“Well, if there are any, you know where to find me. Now go. I’m sure they are better things for you to do than stay here and chat with me.”

“I actually do.” Jihoon says, standing. “See you again.”

“Yeah. Preferably not at any obscene hour of the morning, thanks. I save souls better with a full eight hours of sleep.” The shorter male scoffs but waves a hand in assent. The bell on the door chimes prettily as Jihoon exits, and Jeonghan slumps back into his chair.

After Jihoon’s visit, he can’t seem to sit still. His brain keeps churning out thoughts, thoughts of terrible things that might happen – losing Jihoon, losing Mingyu, losing Chan like he had lost her, had lost them. The premonition makes the lines of ink on his skin itch with something he can’t imply scratch away.

By seven-thirty, when Jeonghan steps into the streetlights that deck the street outside his apartment, there is not a living being to be seen. His motorcycle is in its parking space, a shoddy little rectangle drawn with leftover paint. Mingyu had returned it, and as he thinks about it Jeonghan can’t help but wonder what the catboy is doing at the moment. Is he still at school, preparing next week’s lesson for the kids? Is he walking around in some shady alleyway, hood over his head and ears alert because he hasn’t caught anything the past week and feels worried?

Jeonghan clenches his fist. Mingyu’s part of the job is a dangerous one, but one only he can undertake (he’s the only one Jihoon and Jeonghan would trust with such an important task). And Jeonghan is not willing to pry him away from that world, for fear of losing him entirely.

The most he can do is hope Mingyu is safe at home.

The stairs creak with every step Jeonghan takes; he’d chosen to take them because he needed some more silence to sort through his thoughts, but even when he arrives at the doorstep they are rushing through his mind frantically.

Before Jeonghan opens the door, he simply stands there and listens out for any sign of Seungcheol and Chan – surely they must be home by now. Nothing to be heard; the stony silence permeates everything.

He has to twist the key a few times before the door finally opens, and when it does Jeonghan is greeted with not Chan but Seungcheol, leaning against the kitchen counter like he’s been waiting. Which he probably has. Anything Seungcheol wants to talk to him about alone without Chan is most likely not something Jeonghan wants to talk about, if his gut instinct is right.

So Jeonghan tries to avoid it.

Sadly enough, simply walking past Seungcheol doesn’t work because as soon as he tries it, his forearm is encased in a strong grip, though Jeonghan knows demons can be far stronger.

“Jeonghan. You can’t hide it from me. I know what Chan is.” Seungcheol’s voice sounds unusually deep. It’s way deeper than the voice he uses everyday, when playing with Chan or conversing with some customers of the florist (only after Jeonghan had ensured the back door was locked). It’s all hoarse and throaty and makes the long-haired male automatically stop in his tracks, any train of thought immediately cut.

At that moment, the doorbell rings and Jeonghan couldn’t be any more grateful for it.

“Wait, let me get this.” He jerks his hand from Seungcheol’s grip a bit too quickly, making a speedy turn to the door.

Jeonghan sneaks a glance through the peephole; on the other side is a familiarly morose-looking man decked in a sweater that hides his palms, holding a large sports bag. The long-haired male takes a glance back at Seungcheol, who has one hand on the edge of the table and the other in his hair. That conversation can wait until later, Jeonghan decides.

“Seungcheol, could you go play with Chan for a while?” It’s a terribly obvious indirect way of telling Seungcheol that he currently doesn’t want to address the subject that was the topic of their conversation, and steering him away. Seungcheol’s face remains impassive as he nods, disappearing into the hallway.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Jeonghan finally opens the door.

“Hey Taekwoon.” The brooding male gives a brief nod, stepping wordlessly into the apartment. “What’s this?”

“…Hakyeon told me to bring this over.”

Jeonghan takes the sports bag from Taekwoon’s hands, hefting it onto the dining room table. He pulls deftly at the zipper to reveal several packs of herbs, all labeled neatly. Pulling those aside, Jeonghan continues delving into the bag to find a pair of magicked gloves. It’s a lot of stuff, and as motherly as Hakyeon is, he doesn’t usually prepare such generous gifts. He looks to Taekwoon for explanation.

“…Jihoon said some of your suppliers quit on you.” Jeonghan frowns. That much is true, but the assortment of herbs in the bag doesn’t include the bindweed or the yew Jihoon had mentioned earlier, but rather a variety of other herbs. All of which, Jeonghan remembers, were supposed to have shipments arriving to the florist in the next few days.

Damnit. How much is Jihoon not telling him?

“Taekwoon, is there anything going on that I should know about?” The taller male juts his lower lip out in thought.

“Hakyeon has not told me anything but recently he seems very… worried.”

“Really.” Jeonghan says. This is not good news at all, if even Taekwoon knows something is wrong, but not quite what is wrong. The long-haired male sighs again. “Thanks anyway.”

“But…business has not been very good lately.” Jeonghan raises a brow; to hear someone like Taekwoon, top Soulfinder of not just VIXX but almost the entire world say something like this makes a wave of unease wash across him again. “... I should go now. Hakyeon will be waiting for me.” 

The door closes silent behind him, leaving Jeonghan alone with his thoughts.

Thankfully, when he joins Chan and Seungcheol in their room (really, it is Chan’s room, but Seungcheol’s sleeping on a mattress on the floor until Jeonghan figures his living arrangements out), Chan is talking animatedly to the demon enthusiastically, arms waving. Chan’s presence also manages to keep Seungcheol away from any sort of conversation with Jeonghan – the five-year-old is a little whirlwind sweeping up everything in his path.

Today, Chan seems to have secretly stolen all Jeonghan’s energy from him. Seungcheol tries on thirteen different occasions to talk to him that night, but every time Chan seems to find something new – oh look at this hyung! my favourite cartoon! I like this commercial, it’s funny – and Seungcheol’s sense of responsibility always makes him turn to Chan first. Jeonghan merely watches them, leaning as far back on his couch as he can, temples throbbing, foreboding thoughts casting a shadow over him.

There might be something going on that I don’t know about.

The same sentence keeps echoing in Jeonghan’s mind, haunting him endlessly until he finally calls an early curfew, tells Seungcheol to tuck Chan into bed. He proceeds to make a beeline to his room, locking himself in.

For some reasons every line and curve of his tattoos feel like they are searing, burning into his skin like the first day each of them had branded onto him.

“Jeonghan.” A knock on his door, firm and determined. “We need to talk.”

Jeonghan lets the leather jacket fall beyond his shoulders, revealing the inked leaves and branches swirling up his forearms. Slowly, he lets it slip to the ground, revealing more and more ink, bit by bit – flowers, flowers, trust.

The most beautiful flowers given from the hearts of rumored to be the most wicked. What irony.

“About what?” A loose strap falls off his shoulder, and his eyelashes flutter gently.

Jeonghan wonders what Seungcheol’s flower will be. Will he ever see the garden inked onto Jeonghan’s skin, will he ever plant his own flower there himself?

Perhaps it is a baseless little wish Jeonghan should hope is never fulfilled. Because they had clasped his hands, pressed their foreheads against his, told him they trusted him, trusted him with their life, then sooner or later they had fallen to the grown, dead forever, not found even in that place called Hell.

“Chan’s a demon.” The silence between them serves as enough of an affirmative answer.

But you’re not one. Jeonghan can hear that thought resonate within Seungcheol’s mind.

However, the question that passes his lips is “Was she a demon?”

The long-haired male can practically hear the hitch in Seungcheol’s breath, and he feels an unusual twinge of some emotion he can’t quite place his finger on at the bottom of his throat.

Beautiful, beautiful flowers, the prettiest of all. They will never see the light of day. For there is no light in Hell, and god knows what would happen if the flowers embedded in Jeonghan’s skin ever saw any brightness.

“There was never a she.” Jeonghan replies, but even in his heart he knows how untrue that is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello everyone! not sure how many of you read the notes on every chapter, but to all of you reading this, hello!
> 
> this week i thought i’d share a couple of my recent favourite songs with you guys, because there have been so many amazing comebacks lately, so here goes!
> 
> first of all, vixx’s ‘dynamite’. it’s such a funky and upbeat song and as usual, vixx’s vocals are to die for – absolutely beautiful. my bias in vixx is leo but all of them looked so damn good in the music video O.O (plus anything on their recent album because i love all the zelos songs)
> 
> my second recommendation is lee hi’s ‘star’. i love love love her vocals, the song is great, and she is just so cute?? i can’t help myself
> 
> and block b’s ‘toy’! i didn’t expect to like it as much as i did, but damn. blown away at first listen.
> 
> last but not least, of course, seventeen’s ‘pretty u’! our babies are back, guys! it’s a kinda cheesy song, but it’s good. i would also recommend ‘chuck’ from the album :D
> 
> plus a weekly fic / series recommendation: it’s not a series about seventeen but it’s beautifully written and the characterization is to die for so i hope you guys will give it a try – i’m sure you’ll love it
> 
> that’s about it! thank you so much for reading! you can find me on twitter here: https://twitter.com/cattalicious so do feel free to come talk to me :D


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeonghan shies away from Seungcheol, but he can’t save Mingyu.

Jeonghan used to wonder why they thought the tattooed people were so bad.

Even to a young Jeonghan, why his friends’ mothers gossiped so furiously whenever her silhouette flashed between the bars of the school gates was a mystery. He had remained fascinated with her, her long flowy hair and the beautiful black hyacinth on her nape, and had remained so even when his classmates had warned them in their “grown-up” voices: “Mommy said she’s evil.”

The first touch of her cool skin through the bars of the school gate had sparked something through him, a jolt that had shaped his life. Black lace had swished and eyelashes fluttered as she turned to him, eyes wide but posture calm and poised, like a black swan.

Swan. That was what Jeonghan had called her, inside his head, and now that he couldn’t remember her at all, he hung onto that word like it was the last piece of her he would ever be able to keep. And perhaps it was.

She had been beautiful yet hesitant, and that day Jeonghan had followed her blindly as her faint footsteps padded down the road.

Her scent had wafted behind her, like the wispy ribbons of a dancer’s costume; although then he could only distinguish it as the scent of flowers, now Jeonghan realizes. It wasn’t just any flower. It was her flower.

Resting on his lower nape, it tingles, and Jeonghan wakes up.

The sweat on his forehead is beaded, his heart pounding heavy and hard in his chest. Jeonghan stalls for a moment, brain completely blank and limbs lagging before he finally regains his senses, ripping the covers off his body and bursting into Chan’s room. He is met with a serene sight – Seungcheol and Chan curled up on the futon. Judging by how the five-year-old is curled up into Seungcheol’s chest, he must have crawled into the elder’s arms in the middle of the night. Was it a nightmare? Maybe she haunts Chan’s dreams and memories, a ghostly presence, just like she haunts Jeonghan’s.

He leaves them to their peace.

Jeonghan tries making breakfast – he pops a few slices of toast into the toaster, fortunately a rather harmless event, then breaks one egg yolk in his attempt to flip sunny side-ups. Overall, quite a job well done considering Jeonghan’s laziness and inability to cook great food.

The demons arrive at the living room just after Jeonghan places breakfast on the table, the five-year-old leading cheerfully while the older demon looks on, the gaze in his eyes almost fatherly. Chan immediately bounces up to Jeonghan, pulling eagerly at his pants.

“Flower picking today! Right hyung? Right?” His ebullience is infectious; the edge of Jeonghan’s lips lifts.

“Yes we are! Aren’t you excited?” Seungcheol comes swooping in, scooping up the five-year-old in his arms. Jeonghan scoffs. The sight is pretty cute, he supposes.

Honest to god, the entire thing wasn’t supposed to be a family expedition (basically what it has become), but he had told Chan about it, then Chan, being the adorable little brat he was, had convinced Seungcheol to come along. Jeonghan’s resistance was futile against two pairs of puppy eyes and two nearly identical pouts.

Jeonghan and Seungcheol bicker over transportation for a good half hour (Jeonghan thinks three people on one motorcycle is perfectly safe, but clearly the demon thinks otherwise) before, at the latter’s insistence, they end up taking the bus then walking. It’s safe to say Jeonghan is working up a decent sweat by the time they arrive.

The long-haired male starts off trying to teach Chan how to snip the stalks off and place the bindweed into the shopping bags he’s brought, but the five-year-old seems to have a tendency for ripping the plants straight away from the ground, then tearing them to pieces.

Seungcheol’s side presses firmly against his as they snip the plants from their roots, methodically placing them into the plastic bags. Awkwardly, Jeonghan shuffles to the right a bit, just escaping from the range of touch which is quickly closed as Seungcheol moves with him a few seconds later. This pattern of moving closer and shifting away continues throughout the entire afternoon.

Chan is trying to help, holding a large pair of scissors in his small hands, a look of absolute concentration on his face as he finally snips off a piece of bindweed, placing it into the bag and looking to Jeonghan and Seungcheol for approval.

“Good job.” Jeonghan says, and the demon gives a gloved thumbs up. Then he casually rests that goddamn arm on Jeonghan’s shoulder, the pace of his work slowed with only one hand. The long-haired male gives him a pointed look (though the confusing heat diffusing through his cheeks cannot be denied) but Seungcheol returns his glare before looking away again.

“What are we picking these for?” Seungcheol asks curiously. It’s a question Jeonghan expected come out at some point; in fact, given the fact Seungcheol’s supposed to be responsible (not cute? He’s pretty sure Chan was the one who wrote that on the form or maybe it was something he did sleep-deprived), he’s surprised this didn’t come up sooner.

Thankfully he’s already got an answer prepared.

“Well, I work with this group that trims and mows lawns, so I’m practicing!”

By the look on Seungcheol’s face, his reasoning sounded way better inside his head (okay, fine, it is a shit excuse). Jeonghan can only comfort himself with the fact that his answer was, in part, very true and real indeed. Seventeen was a group he was in, and they did good things, just not the conventional good things mothers reminded their children to do before patting down their school uniforms and sending them to school.

Soulfinders, they called themselves, while others had jeered other names at them: Demonsavers, Hellbringers. Prior to the war, documented meticulously on one point of view, the demons had reigned. Yes, they had ruled with a Draconian hand, but it had worked until the others had rebelled – fairies, shapeshifters, and leading them all, humans – then everything demons had stood for was destroyed.

The magic of the most powerful had been harnessed not to save and heal, but to banish the demons to the deepest pits of Hell where the fires burned fierce. Not a peep of the demons had been seen in the few decades after that, until the greed of some had brought them back from where it was thought they had disappeared to forever.

Summoning. A temporary, one-way portal of immense energy, ridden with spells upon spells used to bind demons to whoever had called them to their will. There was some fortune – at least only those who bore the mark of trust of the demons could call them out from their place under the ground. But these people could be bought; in a dog-eat-dog world, nothing is guaranteed.

Lots of people were shitty. Soulfinders like Jeonghan’s team Seventeen and Taekwoon’s team VIXX (Value In Death, according to Jaehwan, forever the gregarious member of that team – he claimed that since sex was three X’s, it was only right that death was two, whatever that logic was) were just trying to make the world less shitty. Unfortunately that meant a majority of the population hated them. Being a Soulfinder was like being a plain-clothes policeman – hiding in plain sight but never being able to tell anyone what they were doing.

They were shunned for saving demons, but really, saving demons was only part of the job – Seventeen’s job was to save and restore any souls, no discrimination as to who they saved. What they were doing wasn’t exactly illegal, unlike the work of the Soulstealers (who were the real enemy if you asked Jeonghan). Still what they did was looked down on by many. At least they didn’t steal fucking souls to sell them to shitty people with no sense of humanity.

Seventeen was the name they’d made for themselves, back when they were all in their late teens with big dreams and little chances of making them real in the world. It was a stupid, terrible name that had originated out of the street the florist was on, 77 Ship Street. Mingyu being the smartass he always was had pointed out that ‘ship’ sounded like ten in Korean, but they decided ‘717’ was too tacky and too James Bond to work.

So Seventeen it became.

“Anyway, I need these for a reason.” Jeonghan says, completely giving up his cover. “I trust you not to question me.”

Seungcheol raises a brow but wisely says nothing, going off to play with Chan. By the time all the plastic bags are full, only a quarter of the junkyard is empty and the orange rays of sunset have just begun to seep into the horizon. They’ve walked a few blocks to grab some cool snacks – Chan chooses one of the rainbow popsicles and so does Seungcheol (cheaper for two). Jeonghan grabs a plastic pack of mochis, edge between his teeth as he scrounges for coins in the pocket of his jeans.

They’re waiting at the bus stop and the sunset is on full blast, the wind blowing refreshingly through Jeonghan’s shoulder-length hair, the silver-blonde locks tossed gently in the air. For once he’s not carrying his Soulsaving tube, basically a tube for storing huge art pieces that made it possible to carry it like a backpack with one strap – immensely useful for carrying around things like his gloves and guns and jars while masquerading as a college art student.

He doesn’t notice his phone buzzing for a few seconds, brushing it off as the vibration of the wind before he pulls out his phone and sees Jihoon’s name plastered on the bright screen. There are a couple missed calls from Mingyu, pretty recent – concentrating on one thing really blocks his senses from everything else, which makes him a great Soulfinder but in general quite a terrible human being.

“Jihoon?” Jeonghan drawls lazily into the phone, “I’m kinda busy here.”

“Mingyu is hurt.” Jihoon replies, and not missing a beat, continues, “At the usual meeting place. Now.”

Mingyu. Injured. Meeting place. Music studio. Injured. That’s all that flashes through the long-haired male’s mind. He has to go.

Looking at the two demons, who are both looking at him with worried expressions on their faces, Jeonghan almost doesn’t want to go, wants to end this good day by going home, having dinner, watching some crappy show and sleeping. But he has priorities, and Seventeen will have to be his priority for now. (And his feelings for Mingyu make the equation of his priorities terribly imbalanced, but this fact is something better kept to his heart.)

“Seungcheol.” Jeonghan says, the other male looking at him in concern, still licking innocently at his popsicle, “I have to go somewhere. Take Chan home first, okay?” He sees Seungcheol nod once, and that’s enough reassurance for him to turn and run.

Jeonghan’s never run so fast in his life – not even for his physical education examinations in school – but sprint he does, letting his feet take control as his mind blanks. Run, run, run. He barely feels there, in touch with his own body as he tears down the road until it’s finally standing in front of him.

Jihoon’s music studio is really only part of an unrenovated warehouse on a barren plot of land (though not even bindweed grows there) and is extremely useful as their base. When Jeonghan bursts into the studio, an air-conditioned little box with a perfect view over everything inside and outside for inspiration, he is momentarily shocked to find not two, but three people in the room.

Kneeling on the floor is Jihoon, tending to Mingyu who is sitting beside him (a strangely caring sight, considering the former almost bashed the latter in the head with one of his guitars once). Then, leaning against the wall is a broody-looking male with a resting bitch face to rival Taekwoon’s.

“Jeonghan, you’re here.” Jihoon sounds fucking exhausted.

“Jeonghan!” Mingyu sounds significantly more chipper, despite the white bandages looped around his forearm. And despite the presence of a stranger, but Jeonghan wisely makes no comment – not just yet.

The long-haired male just manages to prevent himself from rudely asking “Who’s that?”, instead taking a place on the floor and peering closely at the bandaging. Clearly bandaging has never been Jihoon’s strong suit.

“Ah, by the way!” Mingyu suddenly seems the remember the presence of the gloomy-looking male, “This is Wonwoo, he saved me.” The sparkle in his eyes is something Jeonghan doesn’t like.

“Speaking of saving – “ Jeonghan tries, but his words are quickly intercepted.

“Wait a moment. Wonwoo, you need to go out for a second, there’s something we need to discuss.” As usual, Jihoon says things straight to the point. Not a word in reply, just a casual nod and Wonwoo goes slinking out the room.

Jeonghan immediately gets to the questioning.

“What happened?” Mingyu runs the hand attached to the uninjured arm through his hair, other arm pulled straight and resting awkwardly on his kneecap. Then he leans back, head resting against the Jihoon’s rolling chair, and finally begins to speak.

“I sensed something around midnight, I think? Right around that area…near that steakhouse? In one of the alleys nearby. I went in and they were crouched over this guy so I just walked in.” Jeonghan shoots him a pointed stare and the catboy immediately defends himself, “I wasn’t thinking, okay? It was two against one, so I definitely wasn’t gonna win, but for some reason they just slashed me across the arm and made off with the soul. The soul. Jeonghan, you have to go after them!”

Jeonghan massages his scalp with tensed fingers. At least Mingyu’s not terribly hurt, and it is his responsibility to chase after the stolen soul…

“How long ago was this?”

“An hour ago, please Jeonghan, you have to…” Since Mingyu is pleading with him and even Jihoon is giving him an imploring look, there’s no way Jeonghan can say no.

“Today’s Sunday and tomorrow’s Saturday… I should probably go in the early morning, when there’s less people. Yeah. Okay, I’ll go.” A smile immediately forms on Mingyu’s face.

“That’s great! We should get Wonwoo back in, we can’t keep him outside forever. And you should fix my bandaging,” Jihoon stands up to let the other catboy in while the tallest male keeps talking, “Jihoon’s totally shit at it.”

“Sorry I was the first one who answered your call.” Jihoon deadpans, and Jeonghan snorts but focuses on the white trails of bandage.

“Is this okay?” Jeonghan asks Mingyu as he deftly fixes the bandaging, and the brunette catboy nods. The other catboy present in the room, on the other hand, finally moves from his position of being precariously propped up against the wall to Mingyu’s side, turning the bandaged arm over in his hands.

“You’re not that hurt, right?”

“Yeah, thanks to you.” Mingyu smiles, and Jeonghan feels a little stirring of something that feels like fire at the pit of his stomach. The feeling only intensifies as the catboys exchange smiles, Mingyu’s tail curling gently around his thigh in a way that he only does when he’s warming up to someone. It had taken Jeonghan weeks to see that gesture.

Jeonghan realizes he’s mad, mad at Wonwoo for being able to protect Mingyu when that’s what Jeonghan is supposed to do. He’s also mad at the black-haired catboy because it’s not fair, not fair at all that Wonwoo can so easily coax Mingyu out of his shell when it had taken himself so long.

“I’m going home first.” Jeonghan’s voice comes out slightly scratchy and it’s not the best exit he’s ever made. Hell to that, he thinks as he kicks the door open, leaving with three pairs of eyes fixed on his back.

Jeonghan doesn’t turn back to see their reactions. But behind him, behind that damn half-closed door he can hear Mingyu asking, “Wonwoo, can we exchange numbers? We can go to this café I really like. My treat, since you saved me.”

How about all those times I saved you?

Jeonghan definitely doesn’t turn back.

There’s a mixture of irritation, frustration and jealously all boiling and simmering in his stomach. Jeonghan doesn’t allow himself to think too much – what would he do if he allowed himself to consider that it was any right of his to butt into whatever Mingyu did? – he simply tugs the motorcycle helmet over his head despite the tangly mess of hair Jeonghan knows he’ll be confronted with later, revs the engine and let the thrumming of it drive away anything in his mind.

Jeonghan drives past his home and goes for another round around the block before he finally stops in front of the building. He can see wisps of condensation as he breathes – in, out, in, out – and there are flicks of moisture on his forehead.

The guard at the door even gives him a suspicious look as he skulks in. It quickly dissipates as he pushes the hair out of his face, but the long-haired male is gone too fast to see anything else.

The door slams behind Jeonghan and the welcome mat feels scratchy and uncomfortable against his socked feet. The smell of instant noodles still lingers on the kitchen counter, pungent and sticky. Even with the lights off, Jeonghan can still tell the room is messy, an assortment of toy bricks, crayons and printer paper laid out on the living room floor. He takes a long, long look at the mess, but ignores the stirring of frustration in his chest and reasons with himself that even responsible demons have their days. Jeonghan has no right to say anything after he took off like that. The only way he can comfort himself is by assuring that at least he knows what he’s done wrong.

“Jeonghan?” The hoarse, low voice prickles his skin and sends jolts through his brain. Jeonghan turns to see Seungcheol in all his slept-in glory – bed hair, boxers and a shirt of Jeonghan’s tight on his chest because apparently he hadn’t gotten Seungcheol pajamas (which was not his fault; he had sent Seungcheol out to buy his own clothes alone).

Their eyes met and stayed that way as Seungcheol closed the distance between them, one step by one step. Then the demon leaned forward, arms encasing Jeonghan’s frame, and the long-haired male didn’t know why he didn’t shy away from the affection this time; all he knew was that he felt very, very tired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dear all, i’m very sorry, but the next update might be a bit late. this is due to some very important tests i have the week after, and the revision time i have to dedicate to it. i’m not very good at studying and not awfully smart, but i do have to try…
> 
> i’ve got a vixx fanfic series i’d definitely recommend (even if you aren’t a vixx fan, do give it a try!); it’s by inkin_brushes on ao3 / livejournal called Immortals, and it’s a vampire series. the characterization is so unbelievably realistic. i love and hate ken in that series to be honest because he’s tsundere as fuck in it.
> 
> thank you so much for reading and i hope you guys look forward to the next chapter! as mentioned before, the next chapter may come out a little late because of revision, exams and such, but i hope you all understand the situation >


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeonghan scoops the soul up in his hands and almost reverently presses a kiss to it. Because who knows if anyone even wants to be brought back to life?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’m back after a month! i did post some things during that time, but i’m sorry for being gone so long :P  
> the updates every fortnight will resume, no worries. thank you for almost 100 kudos, i really appreciate it, and i hope you all enjoy this chapter!

Jeonghan awakes at midnight to the feeling of tiny fingers clutching at his thigh. In a sleepy haze, he can barely register the thought of any dangerous intruder, merely blinking open his eyes and peering blearily over the side of the bed.

 

Chan stands there, fingers still pulling at his blanket, and the expression on his face is so stricken a jolt of alarm immediately passes through Jeonghan.

 

“Chan? What happened?”

 

“I had a nightmare. You were there and you were vomiting out blood but then it turned into flowers and you were going to die” Chan’s voice breaks off into another sob and Jeonghan’s heart trembles with the thought of his reality creeping insidiously into the realm of Chan’s dreams.

 

“It’s alright, it’s alright. You want to sleep with hyung?” Jeonghan lifts a side of his blanket. Chan crawls into him immediately, snuggling up into his chest. His soft hair brushes against Jeonghan’s forearms, slightly ticklish but soothing. He finds his mouth moving, humming a soft lullaby that lulls the two of them to sleep.

 

But then, as the universe would have it, Jeonghan is woken up what he gauges to only be five minutes from midnight to another significantly larger entity slipping into his bed. He can see the hot breath ruffle Chan’s bangs below his eyelids, half closed, can feel his heartbeat involuntarily thrumming faster and faster. Jeonghan’s never had someone besides Chan in his bed anyway. Too dangerous.

 

It is comfortable, more comfortable than Jeonghan would’ve ever imagined; him on one side, Seungcheol on the other, and Chan in the middle. _What a domestic masterpiece this must be,_ Jeonghan thinks groggily. Sleep quickly reclaims him again.

 

As Jeonghan sits up, the blanket a swirling pool around his waist, he feels the morning air on his bare arms and realizes he’s made a terrible, terrible mistake. The thought _this is why you don’t let anyone into your bed_ echoes in his mind, off the walls of his brain like a record playing, over and over again, weighing down and pressing its hefty claws into him.

 

 _He didn’t notice, he didn’t notice._ Jeonghan takes out the record of panic Seungcheol’s put in his brain, replacing it with one playing the sweet tune of false reassurance. He’d rather not know.

 

But still, the second he gets out of bed, Jeonghan’s looking for his leather jacket, and his breath seems to resume its normal pace, the world falling back into place as the solid comfort rests upon his back. It’s troublesome, how much he’s relied on this trusty leather jacket. Relying too much is beautiful and tragic, Jeonghan thinks. He would know.

 

The fridge is almost empty when Jeonghan opens it – his only option is having a banana, but it’s better than Soulfinding on an empty stomach, so he takes it. Mingyu usually comes with him and Chan on their weekly quests to restock the fridge (Seungcheol left at home – Jeonghan’s not quite ready to share that secret), but the catboy had rejected his text, sent yesterday during the late afternoon, a simple question of _Come over for dinner?_

 

It’s ironic, Jeonghan thinks, that he had rejected Mingyu’s offer a while ago. Karma, forever a bitch.

 

The art tube filled with his supplies over one shoulder, Jeonghan quickly drops the banana peel into the rubbish bin at the lobby before emerging into the cool air.

 

The morning is cold, but his trusty leather jacket has his back (quite literally). The streets are quiet, and on the surface it looks like not a soul is there. However, Jeonghan knows better.

 

Jeonghan doesn’t even need to pull up the location Mingyu had indicated on Google Maps, his steps broad and as confident as they can be. The silence around him is eerie yet peaceful, the kind of peaceful Jeonghan simultaneously craves but is terrified off. More conundrums.

 

The stench of blood – stale blood – is obvious as Jeonghan turns the last street. The alleyway looms ahead, bombastic in its fear for Jeonghan has been in too many alleyways and been in so many dangerous situations to even be terrified anymore. That’s what he convinces himself, but really the slight twinge of fear and anxiety at the pit of his stomach will never be quelled. It’s like stage fright, one of those things you can suppress but can never really get rid of.

 

It’s fairly easy to find the body; it is completely mangled, the distinct scent of a magicked blade diffusing through the air. One look at the scene exposes the Soulstealer – or Soulstealers – as a bunch of rogues with absolutely no experience. Jeonghan slumps the body up against an alley wall, which makes him feel a bit better about the entire situation.

 

“I’m going to save you.” He says determinedly to the face that has been torn apart; although he knows no one can hear him right now, he holds hope that somewhere in there, the man is still alive. It’s a little superstition of his, that saying the same sentence every time before he goes to save another soul will help him restore their lives.

 

The scent is fairly strong, another sure sign of a rookie, a bunch of rogues, and Jeonghan tracks the magic fairly quickly. The culprits are tucked away in a vague corner under a bridge – classic hobo living, Jeonghan can’t help but think. The jar containing the soul is clutched in a pair of grubby hands. Clearly the money from the sale of the soul would have given these – one, two, Jeonghan counts – two rats another few days to live.

 

Jeonghan doesn’t enjoy attacking such tiny groups, with barely any foundations for their own survival unlike the singular Soulstealers sent out by large corporations looking for souls to sell on the black market on bulk, but he has to admit it’s an easy job. It’s a lot easier to strike with the knowledge that the other side won’t suffer from too many repercussions

 

Gently, he retrieves his knife from the art tube, the twirling vines and lines a clear sign of the magic infused into it, and with a steady yet silent step, Jeonghan moves forward.

 

It’s almost anticlimactic – two clean stabs, enough to injure but not to kill, pulling the jar from desperately clingy fingers, and Jeonghan flees the scene with quick steps. There's not even a fight; the two men almost melt against the blade with the wholeheartedness of giving up. The newspaper tomorrow will insult the “accursed Demonsavers” with jabs on how much damage they cause to the society, but that’s not what’s on Jeonghan’s mind as he carefully unearths the Catcher jar from his art tube, slipping his gloves on before gently placing the soul inside. It’s cloudy, almost like a floating piece of candy floss, and shines with a dull, hoary light.

 

“Not a demon, are you?” Jeonghan mutters, poking at the soul through the transparent glass, “so much for being a Demonsaver?” Never mind all those other times, Jeonghan thinks,

 

Fortunately for Jeonghan, the second the soul is trapped into the jar, he knows his work is already half done. It’s thrumming with energy, a need to run back to where it had come from. Jeonghan becomes its servant, following along in the direction the soul pushes him in, feet stepping, one in front of the other mindlessly.

 

He arrives at a doorstep. Jeonghan squats down, placing the glass jar with the soul there before dragging the body along. He brushes the man’s hair and tidies his clothes a little – Jeonghan doesn’t know who he’s reassuring, but mostly just himself.

 

The jar opens with a solid click, almost too loud in the superfluous silence, cupping the soul in his two hands, pressing it into the male’s unmoving chest. Then he closes his eyes firmly, willing the man to come alive for a few seconds before slipping into the shadows, hoping for the best.

 

Jeonghan sees the door open just as the man begins to stir, eyes opening blearily. He looks like he’s just been woken up from a very deep sleep, not like he’s just been practically resurrected from the dead.

 

A gasp, clothes ruffling. Then he hears the first sounds of a sob as a woman emerges from beyond the door, dropping onto her knees and clutching the man’s head in her hands like something precious. He probably is, to her. Jeonghan can’t imagine how it feels, reuniting with someone you thought was forever gone, someone who you had held so closely to your heart that your heartstrings entwined with theirs. He just can’t.

 

Jeonghan’s never felt like that before.

 

He thinks it might be envy curling its insidious way around his heart, squeezing it so hard it feels like it’s about to burst. It’s his repentance, for reaching out beyond that iron gate, for being curious about the things he wasn’t supposed to stick his head into. But he can’t bring himself to regret that either.

 

The moment the black hyacinth had inked its way on the pale plain of his nape, things were never the same again.

 

Jeonghan sneaks one more peek at the couple, now embracing, before mentally congratulating himself for a job well done. He’ll go get breakfast in celebration he decides – the sun is already peeping slightly from above the mountains.

 

Jeonghan decides to take a little breather, idly texting Mingyu to come over for dinner in the usual, careless way during this time.

 

(Rather, Jeonghan’s forcing himself to be loose-hearted, but there’s always that hovering sense of anxiety.)

 

The answer is another rejection, as properly phrased as all of Mingyu’s are – a dozen frantic messages infused with apologies and “next time”s.

 

 _I’ll get take out,_ Jeonghan texts Seungcheol (who he had gotten a simple flip phone, which was beyond outdated but was cheap and served the purpose), and the demon quickly shoots back two replies, one requesting pancakes and the other explaining that Chan wants them.

 

The lady at the counter at the diner gives him a weird look even though the sign outside declares that they serve breakfast all twenty-four hours of the day. What’s wrong with being a few hours too early? Jeonghan fights the urge to blow a raspberry at her, paying with a few crumpled bills.

 

He steals a seat right in front of the counter as he feels unusually tired – perhaps it is because of the sweetness of the scene he had witnessed earlier. Humming a tune under his breath, Jeonghan slouches into the chair as he doodles some bouqet ideas onto the fabric of his jeans, eyes constantly flickering shut under the weight of sleep.

 

“Hey.” Jeonghan scrambles for life, fingers fumbling before managing to grab a grip on the table edge. He turns around to see Wonwoo, and his pulse immediately quickens. Jeonghan had been hoping to casually meet with Wonwoo one day through Mingyu to test his hypothesis, but it seems like fate is looking upon him kindly today.

 

“Hey Wonwoo.” Jeonghan says, standing up to lean against the wall, slinging an arm that is far too comfortable over Wonwoo’s shoulder. He mentally winces a little bit – he generally doesn’t enjoy skinship with people who are conscious (handling unconscious people is part of his second job).

 

Jeonghan makes casual conversation until a staff member calls out the number on his receipts and he tells Wonwoo they should meet up soon before grasping the plastic bag in one hand, the strap of his art tube in the other and escaping as quickly as possible.

 

Getting home is a slight disappointment when he discovers a text from Seungcheol as he’s unlocking the door, that Chan is still at home but he’d gone out to talk a little walk in the park.

 

 _What happened to being a responsible demon like I asked for?_ , Jeonghan wonders, but settles for leaving the bag of their breakfast on the table and taking a seat on the floor. He’s doesn’t want to go check on Chan yet – if his prediction is right, exposing himself to Chan at this time isn’t a good idea.

 

When Jeonghan hears a rustle at the door, he immediately looks up. His breath is already caught in his chest – has Seungcheol noticed what Jeonghan has thought he would?

 

Seungcheol shoves his way into the apartment, eyes glowing a faint sort of crimson. Jeonghan’s heart lowers and thumps faster simultaneously at that – it could be the sign that the demon’s trust in him is chipping off bit by bit. Or, that his hypothesis had been correct and Seungcheol was indeed sensing what Jeonghan had hoped he would.

 

Seungcheol stalks towards him, steps heavy and meaningful. When their noses are almost touching, Jeonghan starts backing away. Yet Seungcheol keeps stepping forward, forward until the long-haired male’s back is pressed firmly against the wall, the sound of his own deep breaths in his ears.

 

“You reek.” Seungcheol hisses, nose sniffing along the nape of his neck. Like this, he almost looks like a werewolf, yet the telltale stripping away of glamour says otherwise.

 

“Seungcheol, stop.” The long-haired male whispers under his breath. His heart is thumping far too quickly in his chest, and he hasn’t been so close to someone else so intimately like this in forever – as a kid, Chan doesn’t count.

 

“But you smell like – you smell like…” Seungcheol looks up at him with big eyes – Jeonghan can’t believe even a demon is cuter than him – and he looks like an adorable puppy but Jeonghan still places both hands on Seungcheol’s chest, slowly pushing him away. He knows the words that had almost escaped Seungcheol’s lips but he’d rather the other male not vocalize it yet. He needs time to think.

 

Jeonghan realizes that he’s just discovered something that perhaps he should not have.

 

He wonders if Mingyu knows.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mingyu looks so shocked, so betrayed that Jeonghan almost feels sorry.

One day, Jeonghan picks up the remote, turns the television on, and watches the news.

 

Such is the mundane habit of millions, but for the long-haired male, the news that is beyond the circumference of his own life holds close to no significance. As far as he’s aware, ignorance is bliss, especially when it’s his own.

 

A scandal – not a celebrity one (which is a shocker) – about some business mogul. The text below the newscaster reads _DEMONS HIDDEN IN PLAIN SIGHT? – DEAD BODYGUARDS,_ and some of the pictures and videos border gruesome. Videos of the mogul’s bodyguards, of the fight, and of the glamour ripping off the bodyguards, the ears and tail of a werewolf being replaced by sleek horns, the telltale sign of a demon.

 

_Huh._

 

The tattoos tingle under the thick leather.

 

Jeonghan turns the television off.

 

_A demon found disguising as a werewolf, huh._

 

Discoveries are interesting.

 

 

 

Jeonghan feels like a liar, a cheat when he sends Mingyu the next text. He wonders if the other male will catch on, but for all his intelligence, the catboy has never been particularly good at detecting ulterior motives.

 

It only takes a few texts feigning interest in Mingyu’s new boy toy (what Jeonghan has ultimately decided that Wonwoo is) and another few subtly weaning out facts about the other “catboy” for Jeonghan to figure out a meeting with Wonwoo.

 

Surprisingly, it’s at a cat café. Jeonghan almost wants to laugh at the irony. Someone pretending to be a catboy, constantly hiding amongst cats? Perhaps that is why Wonwoo is so good at pretending – he has surrounded himself with it, and as a consequence mastered it.

 

Jeonghan has to applaud him.

 

 _Oh yes, I’m the great pretender._ The song bursts out in the recesses of his mind, from a radio with constant feedback and shitty signal.

Pretenders, no matter how good they are, always get found out, Jeonghan thinks. The plan formulating in his mind is merely a catalyst.

 

Jeonghan has never been one for casualties where they aren’t necessary, a fact that he once again proves as he strides up to Wonwoo, who’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, the cat perched in his lap baring its tiny teeth in a yawn.

 

“You’ve been hanging around with Mingyu a lot lately. Does he know?” His heart is still beating with that infinitesimal chance of being wrong, adrenaline coursing through his veins like a highway. Wonwoo looks up at him with wide eyes (false innocence, the first sign of guilt), mumbling a quiet “Wait” as he gently shoves the cat off his thighs, standing up to (slightly taller than) Jeonghan’s height. The cat makes noises of dissatisfaction but eventually slinks off into another corner of the café.

 

“You were saying?” Wonwoo asks softly, his pitch-black fringe almost completely hiding his eyes from sight, “Sorry, I couldn’t quite catch that.”

 

Jeonghan decides to take a leap.

 

“You’re not a catboy, are you? You’re something much more dangerous.”

 

Wonwoo flashes a sheepish smile (though Jeonghan really can’t be sure of his real intentions or emotions at this point), a soft sigh escaping the slit between the rows of his teeth and slowly, it reveals itself. The cat ears shy down, the glamour peeling off like dried glue from a toddler’s fingers, the curved horns black in the night. Around him, cats pad restlessly in anticipation for their afternoon meal. Breathlessly, Jeonghan whispers.

 

“Shapeshifter demon.”

 

Jeonghan doesn’t know why he’s shocked. He definitely shouldn’t be – the sneaking suspicion that Wonwoo was a demon had arisen purely from the aura he’d given off – but then again he hadn’t been expecting to be accurate in his predictions. Seungcheol had also confirmed it for him – normal demons were usually hostile to the scent of shapeshifter demons, after all. Even the scent of them was so pungent, so dominating, Jeonghan had read, that other demons usually couldn’t bear it.

 

Fortunately, no one is even remotely interested in what they are doing – the waiters are busy, and the cashier, probably some part-timer still in college, is tapping busily on their phone. Still, Jeonghan lowers his voice, as if talking normally will automatically send out an alarm about the secret standing in plain sight.

 

“Does Mingyu know?” Jeonghan wonders where the fuck his brain-to-mouth filter went because recently he’s been blurting out everything off the top of his mind regardless of whether it’s what other people want to hear or not. All that bullshit adults said about honesty being a virtue is bullshit. Jeonghan will probably think otherwise tomorrow.

 

Maybe all the thinking he’s been doing recently has been messing up his head. Because maybe, just maybe Jeonghan’s imagining it, but Wonwoo’s eyes seem to droop even further, a look of warmth and care in his eyes. He swallows uncomfortably. Yes, definitely a figment of his imagination.

 

Because he’s had run-ins with this kind of demon, the ones that can twist their very body to anything they wish – though their abilities are still limited – and he can say for sure that deep in the pits of their chests lies a cold, cold recess, proof that they do not have a heart. Ultimately, it makes them stronger, the stuff of nightmares, means that they are emotionless destroyers who can usually do nothing but destroy, destroy and keep destroying.

 

They are beasts, and they definitely shouldn’t be lurking around him, around Mingyu. They’re just not safe.

 

“You should stay away from him.” Jeonghan says, and looks away before he starts imagining anything else. There’s a terse moment of silence as his asperity seems to deter Wonwoo from speaking – and Jeonghan doesn’t let the awkwardness go on, letting out a tense goodbye.

 

He does sneak one last peek at Wonwoo before he walks away. The other male’s head is hung low and he seems numb to the world around him, even as a cat paws insistently at his shoes.

 

Jeonghan considers that perhaps he had said and done too much, but it’s too late now, and the only thing he can do is leave before he does anything worse.

 

 

 

Unexpected visitors arrive at his workplace that day.

 

Jeonghan almost gets a fucking heart attack when the bell rings during his shift, an eerily cheerful sound in the darkness. The sound is muffled by the door and the distance between the entrance and the backroom – it’s fortunate that Jeonghan even catches that telltale ring. Whoever it is couldn’t have come at a worse moment. Usually Jeonghan prepares his equipment for Soulsaving after the florist has closed for the night, working in solitary silence in the backroom, but the recent attacks had left him with a foreboding feeling.

 

In his haste to get to the door, Jeonghan almost rips open his workgloves, knocks over ten fucking jars and uproots his precious herbs, but he does manage to stumble out in time. Sure, strands of his hair are out of place, his cheeks are flushed and his leather jacket is sloping awkwardly on his frame, but hopefully Chan and Seungcheol don’t suspect anything as they stroll merrily (from Jeonghan’s harried point of view) into the florist.

 

“Jeonghannie hyung!” The ebullience and brightness in Chan’s voice makes it impossible for Jeonghan to actually express the slight irritation at the unwanted visit. A smile comes to his face naturally as it always does around the tiny demon. Then Chan moves – it’s almost as if he and Seungcheol actually lined up to greet Jeonghan, a fact the man himself finds rather amusing.

 

“Jeonghan.” His name comes out of Seungcheol’s lips breathlessly, and before he knows it he’s being pulled flush against the demon’s chest. Strands of ebony tickle Jeonghan’s nape as Seungcheol lowers his head to bury his nose into the soft skin.

 

“Hi?” Jeonghan finally gathers his breath; his greeting is voiced as a question, but what Jeonghan really means to convey is that he is no idea what the heck Seungcheol is getting at despite having lived with him for over a month at this point.

 

Seungcheol remains glued to his neck for quite some time (Jeonghan can’t help the heat that flares in the pit of his stomach at the gesture that seems almost possessive) – thank god Chan has taken interest in some colourful flowers in the corner, poking at them curiously like the naïve child he is.

 

“Hey.” Seungcheol says – Jeonghan can feel his breath against his collarbones, feels his chest expand as he takes in a deep breath, then the satisfied exhale when he completes his investigation of Jeonghan successfully.

 

Thank god the florist is filled with the overwhelming scents of flowers, or else at the moment Seungcheol would be pushing him up aggressively against the wall, face so close his hot breath would be hitting Jeonghan’s face, and voice deep, husky and almost possessive as he demands to know which shapeshifting demon Jeonghan’s been around lately and where exactly they can fight.

 

(Maybe Jeonghan imagines the scenario in a bit too much detail, but he’s starting to realize that around Seungcheol, he can’t quite help it.)

 

“So,” Jeonghan has to force the words out his throat when Seungcheol finally decides to pry his nose off his collarbones, “what are you guys doing here?”

 

“I wanted to visit hyung!” Chan says brightly, his smile threatening to split his face.

 

“Aw, you’re so cute…” Jeonghan envelops Chan in a hug – he can’t seem to resist the boy, especially when he’s such a cutie, “whose baby are you?”

 

Chan sticks out a lower lip; he’s been complaining about a “real man” recently. However he still indulges the human with a mumble of “Jeonghannie hyung’s.” Jeonghan ends up doing absolutely nothing of use save for a few sketches for floral bouquets, spending the rest of his time entertaining Chan. Seungcheol doesn’t seem to be in the mood to do so, anyways, sprawled against a few vases, staring at him and Chan with half-lidded eyes.

 

And as much as Jeonghan thinks and thinks, he can’t decipher the meaning in those dark eyes.

 

 

 

The opportunity to have a one-to-one talk with Mingyu comes only a few days later during Seventeen’s meeting.

 

“So guys.” Jeonghan swears Jihoon has eyes at the back of his head – how else would he know he and Mingyu had arrived at the meeting, despite the already-open door. “And no, I do not have a sixth sense, nor do I have eyes on the back of my head. You guys are loud.” (Jeonghan decides that Jihoon really does have a sixth sense. Or some form of psychic ability.)

 

“We were really quiet, though!” Mingyu complains, immediately sprawling down onto the floor. Jihoon flicks his hand at them flippantly.

 

“More bad news this week. By bad news I mean terrible news.” Jihoon pauses for a few seconds, and it sinks into Jeonghan that whatever has happened, it really must be quite bad for someone as blunt as Jihoon to hesitate when informing them of something.

 

“Taekwoon’s hurt.” Images of the head Soulfinder of VIXX lying on the alley floor, cold and injured slither their way into Jeonghan’s head. It doesn’t feel like it’s been that long since he’d seen the other male – it’s unbelievable that such a fantastically strong, stoic man could possibly be inflicted with injuries as a result of Soulfinding.

 

“What’s happening?” Jeonghan asks. He knows Jihoon knows something, because Taekwoon had definitely hinted to ominous ongoings in their last meeting (anything Hakyeon knows, Taekwoon is usually aware of, he’d come to learn), and Jihoon always knows everything that’s going on.

 

However, Jihoon doesn’t answer him; the shorter male simply purses his lips, which only serves to heighten the gravity of the situation in Jeonghan’s mind.

 

The tension hangs over the trio until the meeting has ended, which is when the long-haired male takes the chance to ask Mingyu for a talk.

 

“You’ve been hanging around with Wonwoo a lot lately.” Jeonghan states, organizing his posture so he looks like he’s making a nonchalant, objective observation.

 

“Yeah,” Mingyu says honestly, “he’s pretty cool. I have to hang out with my own kind sometimes, don’t I?” The tone of his question is teasing Jeonghan doesn’t think he realizes just how incorrect he is.

 

He takes a deep breath before he plunges in.

 

“Mingyu-ah. Wonwoo, he’s not actually a catboy. He’s a a demon, a shapeshifter one – you know that, right?” Jeonghan lets the words slip out of his mouth, as slick as butter, but his heart is beating, each beat like a gun being fired. The recoil is strong, and Jeonghan has to look away from Mingyu. He feels a bit ashamed, like that tattletale on the playground, but Mingyu has to know, he reminds himself.

 

After all, he’s telling Mingyu this because he wants Mingyu to be _safe._

 

(Not because he’s tired of hearing Mingyu talking about Wonwoo, not about how they’re always spending time together, not regarding the fact that Mingyu doesn’t seem to talk to him as much. Wonwoo, Mingyu, Wonwoo, Mingyu, Wonwoo and Mingyu – Jeonghan’s tired of it all.)

 

Mingyu’s tan, sun-kissed skin is more pale than Jeonghan’s ever seen it.

 

“How would you know?” The taller male’s voice is strangely cold, almost as if he’s detaching from the reality he and Jeonghan are in.

 

“He showed me.” Jeonghan says simply: both of them know at this point that Jeonghan’s not lying – Jeonghan can’t lie for his life around Mingyu.

 

A blanket of silence falls upon them. Mingyu’s face remains expressionless, his posture straight and intact. The long-haired male doesn’t quite know what to make of it.

 

“Did you really not know?” Jeonghan persists, trying to gain a reaction that he can fathom.

 

“I didn’t know, actually. I didn’t know.” Mingyu says, oddly silent as if all his energy has been usurped out of him. Is this a good reaction? Jeonghan doesn’t know anymore.

 

“Why are you telling me this?” The taller male continues, and Jeonghan shrugs helplessly.

 

“It’s for your own good.”

 

Mingyu gives a small, bitter smile.

 

“What does it matter if I’m all alone?” Jeonghan wants to scream, to shout at Mingyu that he’s been by his side the whole time – what right does he have to say that he’s alone when there are so many other people out there, grasping at people’s hands like straws, hands that are quickly snatched away. “I don’t care what Wonwoo is!”

 

Mingyu’s voice barrels into a shout; despite his words, his clenched fists and tense posture tell Jeonghan that it does matter to him.

 

After all, the memories from Mingyu’s childhood must remain, the memories Mingyu had spilled out to him and Jihoon over a particularly bad week of Soulfinding when they had failed to save even one person and the sorrow, the regret permeating the air had loosened Mingyu’s lips.

 

“Don’t be selfish.” Jeonghan says, but even he is unsure who that sentence is directed at.

 

They part without a second word. _Mingyu will come to his senses,_ Jeonghan convinces himself, _he will._

 

Walking the streets aimlessly seems to be the only solution for his frustation – the aimless moving of limbs, going and leading nowhere. He ends up stumbling into a mart and swiping up all the bottles of booze – the guy at the counter, probably some high college kid, gives him an understanding nod as he rings up Jeonghan’s purchase.

 

Fuck him. Jeonghan doesn’t want to be sympathized with, he wants someone who will give him a slap on the face and tell him to wake the fuck up.

 

He debates on giving Jihoon a little visit. However, he realizes the other male probably has a shit ton of other stuff on his hands and not enough time to deal with his friends’ bullshit. If only Jeonghan could wholeheartedly immerse himself into his work like that.

 

Somewhat inspired by the thought that Jihoon is most likely doing something productive at this very moment, Jeonghan stumbles into the florist after twisting his key in the lock with fumbling hands. God. And he hasn’t even had any alcohol yet – just the weight of the plastic bag in his hand is enough to make his mind spiral into every direction but the one he wants it to go in. Straying from his own path.

 

In the backroom, surrounding by the gloom and the faux nature, Jeonghan lets the bag fall from his hands. Fortunately the bottles don’t all break into fragments of glass – _a good omen?,_ Jeonghan wonders.

 

Mindlessly, he rearranges the bottles around himself, hands slow and unsteady especially when he pops open the first one he sees, taking a long swig from it.

 

As he sits in the middle of his circle of booze, Jeonghan muses that life is pretty fucking sad.

 

“We’re all born to die, aren’t we?” He whispers to an innocent leaf before he snips it off its stem. Then Jeonghan laughs – a bright, hollow sound – and he wonders if this is how it feels to throw a pity party, a party in which only he is invited. Leaves crumble and wither between his fingers as Jeonghan dumps them blindly into cardboard boxes. That’ll be hell to sort through later, but right now he’s dancing in his own personal hell.

 

He laughs and laughs and laughs until his mouth feels dry, throat parched but still he laughs, that hollow sound reverberating endlessly.

 

The outlines around him are blurry, like the world has been tipped on its axis.

 

Jeonghan barely manages to get himself home. His mind is in a state of flotation, like it is suspended in the sky on silvery thin strings. He is at the same time there but not entirely so – it’s a foreign yet familiar feeling that fills up Jeonghan’s chest.

 

The key finally jams into the lock on his fifth try, and the door opens to reveal the apartment as it always is. Jeonghan doesn’t know why, but for some reason he’d expected something to change, like what he did today would have some kind of mysterious effect on every other area of his life.

 

There is a change in the apartment from when he left in the morning, Jeonghan finally notices – Seungcheol is (or at least had been) sleeping on the couch, but his eyes have since opened at the long-haired male’s return. Now he’s sitting up, eyes still unfocused, just the teeniest bit hazy.

 

“Seungcheollie! You waited for me!” Jeonghan skips the other male, who nods, still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes before he gives the long-haired male a strange look, no doubt noticing his incessant giggling. Somehow, that makes Jeonghan laugh even more.

 

“Hey, Seungcheol-ah,” Jeonghan barely registers his own manic laughter as he clings onto Seungcheol like he’s the only thing he has, “do you think I’m an asshole? Because I think I am one.” Jeonghan can’t make out the words Seungcheol’s lips form pressed against the crown of his head. He can’t really tell what Seungcheol is doing but it’s warm and he’s warm and Jeonghan keeps laughing and laughing. But this time there’s someone to shut him up as Seungcheol’s lips touch the crown of his head to his forehead to the tip of his nose until they press warmly against his own.

 

Seungcheol’s thighs are warm against his when Jeonghan pushes the other male back onto the couch against all the pillows, leaning, surging forward for another kiss. The fabric of Seungcheol’s boxers rustle as he moves, bare chest warm against Jeonghan’s cold hands. The demon licks eagerly at Jeonghan’s lower lip, seeking entrance which is easily granted.

 

Jeonghan has a faint thought that he will deeply, deeply regret everything that has happened and will happen tonight when he wakes up tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry, i was sick for a bit.  
> hope you guys enjoy :)

**Author's Note:**

> i'm trying to be very purposefully ambiguous in this and i don't think it's working.
> 
> find me on twitter!: https://twitter.com/cattalicious


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